


No Matter Where It Leads

by nirejseki



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Brainwashing, Fix-It, M/M, Memory Issues, spoilers for 1.15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 01:05:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7246003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kronos goes hunting one last time, with unexpected results. </p>
<p>AKA re-write of Legends of Tomorrow Episode 1.15 ("Destiny") so that the Time Masters are not totally incompetent at brainwashing and the rules of time travel are consistent across the DC-verse TV shows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Matter Where It Leads

The pain has lasted forever. There was nothing before, there is nothing now, there is nothing after. There is no thought. There is pain.

The pain fades. 

Kronos opens his eyes.

“Your name?” the Time Master asks.

“Kronos,” he tells him, and is released. He is given his armor. He is given his gun. He is given all of his essentials: the computer, the clock, the equipment, the shield. He knows they are his, for he is told that they are his, and he has no reason to question what they tell him.

He is given his mission.

“There is much hunting to be done,” they say. “Let us begin with Sara Lance and Leonard Snart.”

Kronos goes hunting.

He tracks them to the hold – _Target Leonard Snart would’ve found the ship's boltholes first thing_ , he thinks idly to himself, _they probably never left the ship_ – but is deterred when the ship rises up and flies out. He is not concerned. They will not leave; Target Sara Lance is a noted sentimentalist, her history with the League of Assassins aside – she will not abandon her friends. _You don’t have the guts._ It is a simple deduction. He will wait; they will return. If they do not, he will track them throughout time. 

There’s no need to rush.

Kronos is not known for his speed, but his endless, dogged persistence, for tracking his prey endlessly until he brings them to ground. Time Masters, he knows, care more about the end results than they do about the timing, _you’re usually counting down the seconds, got the whole thing planned out, dotting “i”s, crossing “ts”_ , which is unimportant in the end. After all, when you have all the time in the world…

Kronos goes to the prisoners’ bay, stepping inside, gun locked and ready, as one of the Targets attacks and disables the Time Masters and their guards, approaching the doors of the cages. The Target turns to face him, his own gun at ready.

“Put the gun down, Mick,” he says.

The words mean nothing.

_Damnit, Mick!_

“Kronos, fire!” Time Master Delcan orders.

Kronos fires, but the Target is already dodging to the side, _ring the bell_ , so Kronos takes three steps forward and bashes him in the head with his gun, dropping him like a stone. It seems more appropriate than shooting him down. 

It’s also deeply satisfying, though he’s not quite sure why.

The other prisoners cry out as if in pain.

“Good enough,” the Time Master sneers. “Put him in one of the cells for now and continue your mission.”

Kronos slings his gun behind him, then kneels and scoops the Target into his arms, one arm under the head for support, one under the knees. It would be easier to sling him over his shoulder, but that’s not so healthy when you might have a concussion, and he can’t risk anything happening to the Target’s brain. _You’re the brain; I’m the muscle._ Kronos puts him gently down inside the cell, taking care not to bump or injure him further, and takes a step back to study the scene.

He frowns beneath his mask.

Something is wrong, but he’s not sure – ah, of course.

Kronos retrieves the gun the Target had been holding – _I need someone capable of handling extremes_ – and places it beside the Target. He’s not complete without it, his new right hand, so of course he requires it. Regardless of the wisdom of arming a prisoner. 

The Target’s head lolls a little, his brow furrowing with pain and displeasure.

Bad dreams again, no doubt.

Kronos reaches for his equipment pack and pulls out a syringe.

“What are you doing?” one of the other prisoners screams at him. 

They are unimportant. Kronos injects the Target with the sedative and is satisfied to see his face smooth out into dreamless sleep. _You stupid insomniac; don’t you know you can’t live without sleep?_ Sleep will be beneficial and restorative; Kronos can continue his mission without concern.

He begins to track the second Target. 

The second Target is wily, doubling back and covering her path with expert skill, but as he predicted, she is unwilling to leave without her companions. She even makes it to the prisoners’ bay, speaks with them for a few brief moments, exchanging information, but is chased out before she can release them. But in the end, the second Target is a stranger to the Vanishing Point and Kronos has been programmed with all that he requires: maps, layouts, passages, plans, all are at his beck and call.

Kronos cuts her off in an isolated corridor.

“Looks like it’s you and me again, huh?” the Target sneers, pulling out her quarterstaff. “Except this time, no pirates.”

Kronos is unfamiliar with the reference. 

“The real kicker of it is, I honestly didn’t believe you’d betray Snart again,” she says.

_He’s the one always doing the leaving._

“It was my mission,” he tells her, his voice rough and mechanical through his helmet. He does not reach for his gun.

“Oh, yeah?” the Target says. “What’s your mission now?”

“To hunt you down,” Kronos says. “I have succeeded.”

The Time Masters told him once, he can’t remember when, that he was not supposed to kill in the Vanishing Point; a measure of self-defense, he supposes, but the restriction is still in place. Normally when he hunts, he kills; but he is here where there is to be no killing – so he has tracked her, he has trapped her; that will have to be sufficient. Disappointing. 

The Target is frowning, but no less ready to fight. _Quite the badass._ “So what’s your mission now?” she asks.

Kronos shrugs. “My orders are to complete all past missions and then to report for a new assignment. I will have to –”

“No, wait!” the Target interrupts. “You’re not done with one of your past missions. Remember? Being Legends? The Waverider? Savage?” 

“I do not recall that mission,” Kronos admits. _I’m not gonna be anyone’s hero._ He dislikes it when his memory has gaps, a sadly frequent occurrence. “What were the objectives?”

“Protect the team,” she says immediately. “Ensure their safety, rescue them from harm. In this case, we need to evacuate them from their cells and destroy this Oculus thing Rip told me about; otherwise we’ll never stand a chance of fulfilling the ultimate objective of killing Vandal Savage.”

Killing a Target; that sounds like one of Kronos’ missions. _I like killing people. We’re in._ He’s not typically sent on protective or rescue missions, but he supposes if it’s in aid of the final objective, it makes sense. Normally, Kronos would not listen to a Target, but in this instance, the mission she describes pings with a sense of familiarity. So it must be true. 

“Who has the relevant technical expertise to disable high-tech security systems and to reprogram a bomb without error?” he asks her. _Quicker than you can say “rookie mistake”._

“Uh, Ray, I guess,” she says. Kronos will need to label her better, now that she is no longer the Target. He supposes she must be an Ally if she is not a Target. “Why?”

“The Oculus has significant technical protections,” Kronos says impatiently. This Ally has clearly not been read in to the layout of the Vanishing Point or has not bothered to download the data; if she does not shape up soon, he will be obliged to recommend re-induction. “Although it is rarely left guarded, in light of its quasi-religious significance. The few guards there are have a predictable perimeter scan; it will be easy enough to avoid them.”

“Already cased the joint, huh?” the Ally says with a smirk. _We know how to case banks – we’re practically bankers._ “So, what, we go in guns blazing, rescue everyone and go to the Oculus to destroy it?”

“It would be better if we just discharged the prisoners,” Kronos says, turning away. _You’re also going to need era-appropriate protection._ “There is an armory nearby where you can get appropriate gear.”

“Hey, my gear’s just fine,” the Ally says, following him down the hallway, hand still cautiously on her weapon. 

Kronos briefly presses his palm against the wall before typing the appropriate combination on the keypad on his wrist, and the armory wall slid out with a hiss, revealing a copy of one of the smaller Hunters’ outfits. It would fit the Ally appropriately.

“I think I see where is going.” The Ally is grinning. “So, I get into costume and we go, uh, ‘discharge’ the prisoners?”

“Yes,” Kronos says. He is pleased he does not have to explain further; the Hunters were exceedingly resistant to the concept of stealth even if it would enable them to more effectively fulfill the objective. _I require the services of…a killer, klepto and pyro?_ “I will take ‘Ray’ to the Oculus and he will disable it while you will escort the remaining team members to the ship you wish to use to exit the Vanishing Point. You will then create an adequate distraction so that the disabling of the Oculus remains unimpeded. If anyone questions you, inform them you are carrying out a mission objective and tell them to direct all questions to Time Master Declan.”

“Won’t that be a problem if he finds out?”

Kronos bares his teeth underneath his mask. It is unusual move, as his face is hidden and it can have no intimidation effect, but he feels the muscles in his cheeks move to assume the position almost without his conscious thought. _Ah, fry, you little piggies!_ “Time Master Declan runs the Bounty Hunters,” he explains. “The other Time Masters tend to avoid him unless it’s particularly important. There will be a time delay before the orders are countermanded, thereby enabling us to fulfill our mission objective.”

The Ally nods and turns, reaching for the armor.

Kronos leads the way down to the prisoners’ bay once again. No one questions them; no one looks at them. Kronos would say something about the stupidity of having an entire class of people with the freedom to move unimpeded in your home base that no one ever looks in the face, but the Time Masters do not encourage commentary from their Bounty Hunters. _On occasion, I’ve had to call some audibles._ It is, however, useful in this instance. 

The prisoners are angry when they enter. “What the hell did you give Snart?” one of them shouts, banging on the door to his cell. He is tall and has an ugly haircut. “Damnit, answer me!”

The Ally pulls off her helmet. Kronos is inclined toward anger – why would you remove your armor while on mission? – but he sees quickly that there is an advantage to it, as the prisoners calm immediately. “Sara, thank god!” the older one, sitting on the floor gasps. “How did you manage..?”

“Mick’s lending a hand,” she says with a grin which fades when she looks at the cell with the first Target, who has curled an arm around his gun but who has otherwise remained asleep and unmoved. “Why’s he still unconscious?”

“Mick injected him with something,” the tall one says, scowling. “What was it?”

The Ally turns to him, expecting an answer.

“A basic sedative,” Kronos answers. “To make him sleep.”

“You’d already bashed him on the head!” the tall one exclaims indignantly. “What was the point of drugging him, too?”

“He requires a deeper state of sleep or he gets nightmares,” Kronos says, annoyed at having to explain the obvious. If the Target does not get sufficient sleep, the Target becomes unduly cranky and then everyone’s lives are worse off, and sometimes, if the insomnia has gone on long enough, he shifts from anger to sadness, and that is plainly unendurable. _You better not drop my future criminal partner. Otherwise you’re in trouble, comprende?_ Kronos hopes that the one asking all the stupid questions isn’t the ‘Ray’ Asset which is assigned to his task, but he suspects, with his luck, that it is. “We should go to the Oculus before they discover that the prisoners are out of their cells.” 

He begins to program in the instructions to open the cells while maintaining the appearance that they are still closed. This will enable them to skip the alarms. Alarms are nothing but trouble. _Three weeks of planning and all we got out of it was this stupid ring._

“The Oculus?” the man in the center cell says, looking up. “We need to –”

“Yes, yes,” the Ally says dismissively. “Mick – uh, ‘Kronos’ here is going to take Ray and destroy it while the rest of us go the Waverider and cause enough of a ruckus to distract everyone. C’mon, Rip, you take Stein; I’ll take Snart.”

Turns out the tall one is in fact the Asset called 'Ray'.

Of course he is.

Kronos instructs him to be silent, impressing upon him the _extreme importance_ of remaining entirely mute. It works for about fifteen minutes before the Asset whispers, “Why do we have to be quiet?”

“Because I find your voice annoying,” Kronos tells him in his normal tone. _You getting all native on us, Haircut?_

The Asset straights up indignantly with an undignified squawk.

“Doesn’t mean you can make noise,” Kronos warns. “Be loud, they find us, I shoot you.”

Kronos keeps watch as the Asset fiddles with the Oculus, listening to the sounds of explosions from outside and the sound of yelling over the comms. The others have reached the Waverider and are putting it to good use; no one has yet noticed what they are up to.

“Uh-oh,” the Asset says.

“What?”

“There seems to be a failsafe to prevent tampering,” the Asset says with a grimace. “Which probably includes trying to blow this thing up.” 

“And in English?” Kronos says.

“I have to maintain contact with the failsafe it order to destroy the Oculus.”

Kronos frowns. That appears to be a considerable flaw in their plan. “Not that much English.”

“Well, I don’t –” The Asset’s eyes go abruptly wide. “This is the moment Rip was describing. The future. I – this is how I die.” He licks his lips, swallows. “No. It’s okay. All my life I've wanted to make a difference. Creating a future without the Time Masters influence, that counts.”

_He took a beating for me._

“Your death would not be optimal,” Kronos says. “The objectives of the mission are to successfully rescue the crew of the Waverider; if you die, I will not succeed.”

The Asset scowls at him. “Sorry to ruin your perfect record –” Kronos objects to this; he does not have a perfect record. Merely a very good one. “– but you should probably get out of here.” 

Kronos shrugs and raises his arm to enter in a very specific passcode, one to be used solely in cases of great extremity and only with explicit permission from the Time Masters. The only exception to that rule was to save a Time Masters’ life.

_Jax here was…almost got himself killed._

This is close enough, surely.

He turns and walks away.

The Asset’s shoulders slump.

Kronos returns, stepping around the left side of the Oculus. The Asset gapes at him. “Mick, what’re you doing?” he asks. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the gesture, but you need to go before the blast–”

Kronos steps around the right side of the Oculus. 

“– and there are two of you now?” the Asset squeaks.

“Timeline fragment,” Kronos says, nodding at his past-future self, who has elected to stay and take the blow, and taking the Asset’s arm to drag him off if necessary. 

“Timeline what now?” the Asset yelps.

Kronos drags him towards the entrance.

“What are you _doing_?” Time Master Declan booms from where he’s blocking the entrance. 

“My mission,” Kronos responds, puzzled. He would have thought that was obvious.

Declan sneers. “At least the induction wasn’t a total failure,” he says. “Kronos, this man is not your mission. We have other plans for you.”

_For a Time Master, you sure waste a lot of it._

“Kronos, I’m resetting your mission parameters. Your new parameters are to obey my orders. Stand down.”

Kronos releases the Asset’s arm.

“Now shoot him. When you’re done with that, we will go and you will shoot the others, one by one.”

_Yeah, and my…oh, yeah, I don’t have anyone._

Kronos unslings his gun from his side.

“Mick, no!” the Asset exclaims, trying to back off towards the exit, which Delcan is blocking. 

Declan is smirking.

_For your sake, you better hope that plan works. 'Cause if it doesn't, that boot's gonna crush your skull._

Kronos fires.

Declan falls.

“If I recall,” Kronos says, voice low and deep and almost alien to him in the rising tide of uncontrollable, inexplicable rage. “I made you a certain promise.”

Declan dies beneath his heel, begging for the mercy he never gave anyone else. Coward to the end.

The Asset beams at him. “Good to have you back, Mick,” he says.

“There a reason you keep calling me that? My name’s Kronos,” Kronos says, watching bemusedly as the Asset’s smile fades. “And we should go. There’ll probably be guards outside, and they’ll probably kill us.”

_Traitor!_

_Not possible; I was never on your side. I was on my side._

There are far too many guards outside, even for Kronos with the aid of the Asset’s metal suit, and the Waverider is too distant to help, but it turns out not to matter, because a jump ship shimmers into existence and takes out the guards within minutes. 

A young man pokes his head out, smiling. It is surprisingly charming. 

_We’re not waiting around for the other shoe to drop._

_You deserve better._

“Hope I’m not too late,” he says. “Now, you need me here or should we go back to the Waverider?”

“We should leave before the explosion,” Kronos says.

“Explosion?”

_You can’t tell me you don’t wanna see what this baby can do._

“We’ll explain later,” the Asset says hastily. “C’mon, let’s go.”

The jump ship rushes out to meet the Waverider and the Waverider jumps minutes before the Oculus implodes.

Kronos feels a rush of pleasure at the sight. Take that, Time Bastards.

When they leave the cargo bay in which the jump ship is stored, the others of the crew are waiting, including the Target. The others must have administered something to reverse the sedative. Kronos is displeased; there are still circles under the Target’s eyes. He should have been permitted to sleep until he woke naturally, preferably at some golden afternoon hour in a warm bed next to a fan, when he would blink and yawn and, eyes still half-lidded, smile a soft little smile that no one else gets to see. 

That would be preferable.

“Mr. Palmer, it’s good to see you alive,” the mousy looking man says, reaching out to clasp the Asset’s hand. “I would have sworn I saw…”

“You were right,” the Asset says. “I _was_ supposed to die there, just as you saw it. But Mick, um, Kronos, um…I suppose you know what a timeline fragment is?”

“Certainly,” the mousy man – who looks like a Time Master now that Kronos is paying attention – says, frowning. “Speedsters have been known to utilize them, but Mr. Rory is not a speedster…”

_A serial arsonist was never part of my plan to stop Savage, much less one with the IQ of meat._

Huh, Kronos doesn’t like this guy. He’s going to classify him as Moron. It’s not a typical categorization, which are designated by use to the mission, but Kronos feels it describes the man’s position in life adequately.

The Asset is explaining what happened and the Moron’s face is going weird colors and he’s starting to exclaim and wave his hands around.

The Target is staring at him. His face is impassive, his hands steady, but his fingers are drifting close to his weapon and his shoulders are wound tight; signs of anxiety, nervousness, fear. He does not speak.

The older man steps forward and speaks instead, smiling and saying, “You seem to have successfully fought off the brainwashing, Mr. Rory.”

The Asset coughs. Kronos says nothing.

“That might not be strictly accurate – he, um, doesn’t seem to recognize the name Mick Rory,” the Asset confesses. The others immediately begin to look concerned.

Kronos decides now is a good time to leave them to it and walks out, heading down to the engine core to have a little chat with the AI. He wants to put his own safeguards in place before the Moron does anything sneaky.

The Target follows him and watches as he settles down in front of the AI database and starts to unscrew the interface. Gideon won’t mind a bit of harmless tinkering; it’s not like he’s going near her personality core.

Kronos normally doesn’t like to be looked at, but the Target’s gaze is strangely calming. It is as it should be. Now if only the Target would calm down a bit. Lounge around. Read a magazine. Plan a heist. Something. 

_I’m getting bored being stuck on this tin can, and when I get bored, I make bad decisions._

“Might I have a word?” the Target drawls. 

Kronos nods.

“Then take off that goddamn helmet. I’m not talking to you with it on.”

_If you're gonna kill me, you could at least tell me what's going on._

_You should have figured it out by now. After all, I am supposed to be the dumb one._

Kronos is abruptly aware that removing his helmet will reveal a weakness. Normally, he never removes the helmet on mission, but the mission is over; this is downtime before the next mission begins and removing the helmet is not only acceptable but encouraged. But for some reason, he knows down to his bones that removing it before the Target will be leaving himself vulnerable.

_We had a deal, Mick: kill me, and you walk. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To get off the team?_

Kronos removes his helmet.

“Better,” the Target says, and his shoulders relax a little, almost involuntarily, at the sight of him, although his hand remains by his belt, close to his gun.

He falls silent, studying him. There is something wrong with the Target's eyes. They reflect the light more than they should, glistening with liquid.

Kronos' chest aches, right in the center. 

Unbearable.

“You got something to say?” Kronos asks. 

“Got a couple of things to say,” the Target snaps, then takes a deep breath. “Before anything else, though, I got a question.”

Kronos inclines his head.

“You got any plans for Lisa?”

“Lisa?”

“My _sister_ ,” the Target snarls. “You threatened to _kill her_ , last time. Over and over and over – vengeance, remember? Most beautiful thing on Earth?”

Kronos shakes head. He has no conception of beauty anymore, except perhaps in the absence of pain. The induction cleaned him all out. 

The Target is beautiful, he supposes, if one had to classify things that way. He’s not sure why he thinks that; it doesn’t seem mission relevant and yet still appears oddly important.

“I don’t got any plans for your sister,” he tells the Target. 

_Mick, baby, it sounds like you’re hungry._

“Nothing at all?”

Kronos shakes his head. 

The Target sighs, long and slow, and he moves his hand away from his gun. He sits down on the step that leads to the hallway as if his legs can no longer hold him. The sight of him sitting down there makes Kronos think of railings and shards of ice and delicate fingers gone missing, but the Target has two hands now, whole and safe and undamaged. 

Kronos hopes the thought is an aberrant intrusive thought, not a memory or, worse, something he saw in the future.

“I’m sorry,” the Target says abruptly.

Kronos blinks. “Why?” he asks. This is not standard behavior expected from this Target. This Target is not typically one for remorse; it is one of the things Kronos likes about him.

“I should have come for you sooner,” the Target says bitterly. “Before they put you back in that chair and played blender with your brain. Sara had the right idea, while my first thought was saving my own skin.”

_Get the hell out of here! What are you waiting for?_

_You call that a flame?_

_I always, always was coming back for you._

Kronos shrugs. “It’s okay,” he says. “You would’ve come back eventually.”

_I know it's been a while since we pulled that job. I know it didn't go so well for you, and I know I said we were finished. But things have changed._

The Target shakes his head mutely. 

No one can ever hate the Target more than he hates himself. Kronos wishes there was something he could do to keep him from adding this burden on top of those he already carries.

After a moment of silence, he speaks. “Raymond tells me you killed the guy in charge of the brainwashing, Declan, yourself. All the other Time Masters are dead thanks to your explosion. But I still want to kill someone for what they did to you.”

Kronos knows he should say something now, but he doesn’t know what. He’s not good with words. 

_More drinking, less feeling._

The Target is playing with a ring on his hand.

“I can’t believe you still have that piece of junk,” Kronos finds himself saying nonsensically. 

The Target looks up at him, eyes wide for just a second, then he smirks. “Speaking of pieces of junk,” he drawls. “I think I’ve got something of yours.”

He rises and leaves the room, returning a few moments later with a box that he tosses at Kronos.

Kronos catches and opens it.

There’s a gun inside, bulky, with a red cylinder and a dull, warm feel.

_You still like playing with fire? You're gonna love this._

_You promised me I'd get to do my thing._

_I always keep my promises._

_Why do they call you people the heat? I'm the heat!_

_Any preference on how you'd like to die? The flame or the frost?_

_You will all freeze._

_Or burn._

_I already got a partner._

_I'm willing to bet that some little piece of the old you is in that armor somewhere._

_Don’t kill him!_

_You know, while you were busy selling us out to a homicidal time pirate, Leonard and I almost died. He was thinking about you, told me about your partnership, your friendship._

_How about we play this like Chicago?_

_I take it you and Mr. Snart are of the same mind?_

_Yes._

_Put the gun down, Mick._

“My heat gun’s not a piece of junk,” Mick says, because that’s important to get straight; it’s the best present Lenny’s ever given him. He smirks. “Want to say we’re even with bashing each other in the head, then?”

Len rolls his eyes and comes over to where Mick is sitting.

“Tell me what you’re planning on doing to the ship,” he orders, back to playing boss like the shameless egotistical bastard that he is. That was a pathetic apology and Mick’s going to rag on him for the rest of forever about it. He should get more than that out of it; he nearly got his personality wiped away.

_We look after each other. It's you and me, right?_

What the hell. They were never big on the whole feelings crap anyway.

“Oh,” Mick says. “You’re going to love this…”

**Author's Note:**

> A fic born entirely of the fact that Mick's brainwashing failed so utterly and completely despite the Time Masters really thinking it was going to work. Like, seriously showrunners, that attempt didn't even last five minutes, and we're supposed to be scared of these assholes? 
> 
> Not intentionally a fix-it, but I mean, if I was going to re-write the episode anyway, why not?


End file.
